


Sharks and Crocodiles

by SkartoArgento



Category: Far Cry 3
Genre: Group, M/M, Molestation, Multi, Rape, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 19:57:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3086966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkartoArgento/pseuds/SkartoArgento
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this over a year ago, and it's been sitting on Tumblr since.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Sharks and Crocodiles

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this over a year ago, and it's been sitting on Tumblr since.

Even under the light of a full moon, his escape wasn’t easy.

The big waxy fronds cut Keith’s arms as he ran through them. He dodged trees, slipped down a hill, crashed through a stream and ended up panting and shaking beside a small lake. Several deer scattered before him, darting back into the undergrowth with barely a wisp from the leaves.

His knees hit the grass at the edge of the water. Keith inhaled as quietly as possible, even though _he_ couldn’t possibly know he was gone yet – not unless he had come home early from the bar. When he did…

Buck had hurt him over tiny shit before. Keith had dropped a cup of water – Buck had punched him in the cheek. He’d been slow to wake up – Buck had kicked him. Once he’d been so terrified, so utterly scared while waiting for Buck to come down and fuck him, he’d pissed himself. When Buck saw what Keith had done, he’d retrieved a wooden cane from under the bed and beat him until he passed out. When Keith woke up, Buck stripped off his clothes, fucked him anyway.

He cupped his hands in the water, brought it to his lips. Memories flashed through his head, those stupid ‘wild survivor’ TV shows that told you to never drink from a still water source, to purify water before you drank it. Fuck that. His throat burned, as dry as a desert in dire need of a rainfall. Half the time, Buck seemed to have decided that spunk was an acceptable substitute for water. Keith’s head fuzzed and kept wanting to tip him onto his side. He needed this, right now.

The water trickled down his forearms. He drank deep. Refilled his hands. Drank again. And again.

When he’d finally had enough, he leaned back on his heels and scrubbed at the shallow cuts on his arms. Were there crocodiless in here? He scanned the surface of the water, but even illuminated in the moonlight he could barely see more than dark shapes. There was something to his left along the bank that could have been a crocodile or a floating log. He probably shouldn’t take chances. When Buck had been in one of his happy moods, he’d shown Keith a scar on his ankle, told him that a croc had dragged him into a river, tried to drown him.

Keith remembered wishing that it had.

He washed his legs next, kept both eyes on the logodile. What had happened to the others? Had they ended up like him, or like Riley? Keith stood up and scanned the treeline for danger. Assuming he saw them again, how was he going to tell Grant and Jason that their little brother was dead?

Fuck, this was messed up. All so fucking messed up. They’d just wanted a neat vacation, that was all. This place was supposed to be an isolated paradise. None of them had expected to walk slap-bang into a fucking human trafficking ring.

A black trail of smoke streamed up against the moon. The source seemed to be just beyond the trees. Keith started towards it, and then stopped. A campfire could mean pirates. But it could also mean help, or food. He slid through the jungle, ducked into the vegetation as he got close. Laughter burst through the air like the rapid-fire of a gun. Voices joined it, happy voices. Keith swallowed, edged nearer. Through the trees, sheet metal had been erected around what looked like a tiny army base. A watchtower stood on the fringe, flickered a dull orange from the fire.

He smelled food. Good food. Meat.

Adrenaline surged in his stomach. He needed to get some of that food. What else was he supposed to do, sit in the jungle eating berries? He could tell a medium-rare steak from a rare one, but there was no way he knew the difference between what was poisonous or not in this hell hole.

The voices became clearer. He came up against the metal barrier. Too thin, too high to climb over. He walked around the edge, ducking whenever one of the voices raised in tone or volume. Pretty soon he discovered a hole that looked like it had been punched through the sheet metal. Big enough to squeeze through. Keith crouched, took a look inside.

In the middle of the compound, a building blocked his view of the other side. That was where the fire was, where the voices were coming from. He crawled inside, then stood up to take a look around. Inside a bamboo cage nearby, a large bird regarded him with yellow eyes. Daisy had known their names, but he couldn’t remember at that moment. What was it Oli had called them? ‘Pimped-out ostriches’, or something.

Damn, he hoped that kid was okay.

To his right, a small table was set up with a black pot sitting on it. He perked up, tiptoed forward. Pots were usually for food, weren’t they? He stole a quick look in the direction of the fire. They wouldn’t mind. He was sure they wouldn’t mind. He reached into the pot, scraped around. Something squishy touched his fingers. He scooped it up, tried to examine it. Small grains – rice. Rice and some kind of meat. He pushed it into his mouth. God, that was good. If he hadn’t been so hungry, it would probably have been a mediocre meal, but Buck liked to feed him sparingly, and so little. Last time it had been a bowl of goat stew. A tiny bowl.

He reached in for another handful.

Something grabbed his wrist.

_-:-_

“No, I’m telling you – he’s one of the ones that came in with those kids a couple of weeks ago!”

“That’s bullshit, all those ones got sent to Hoyt. How’d he get across the water?”

“How should I know? Maybe he hijacked a boat.”

“Maybe you’re full of shit.”

They jabbered around him, pushed and shoved at each other. He was tied to a post near the fire as they brandished knives and guns at him. He didn’t move, just stared at the ground while they circled and poked him with the muzzles of their guns.

One stopped in front of him. Dark eyes peered into his. The man grabbed his hair, tugged him forward. “Snow White?”

Another pirate scratched under his bandana. “Naw, man, I _saw_ Snow White, remember? He was like a damn ninja. Ninjas don’t get caught stealing food.”

“You did not see Snow White.”

“I did, I’m telling you. He looks different to this guy. Let’s just call Vaas, see what he wants us to do.”

Vaas. In some hazy memory, he remembered a man. A mad man who shouted, then spoke in a whisper, stroked the back of his head and then smacked him. Keith squirmed against his bonds. No, dammit, he wouldn’t be sold again.

He took a deep breath. “I-I’m sorry I took your food. I was just hungry. Please, let me go!”

All they did was laugh.

“Someone get on that damn radio,” said one of the pirates. The rest milled around. He counted about seven, three circling him like sharks. He didn’t like the way they stared, or their dark chuckling. The one with the bandana darted forward, and slipped his hands into Keith’s shirt pocket.

“Nothing?” He tapped Keith’s face with his finger. His hands wandered, explored down to Keith’s shorts. He dipped into his back pockets. “Someone already cleared you out, baby?”

Oh, he really didn’t like that word.

The pirate’s hands didn’t leave his pockets. Instead, they gripped his ass, squeezed. Keith jerked away with a whimper. The pirate clucked his tongue. “Don’t think so, baby. It’ll take Vaas a while to get here, if he’s coming at all.”

Fingers trailed down to his inner thigh. One of the other pirates shifted from foot to foot and rubbed the back of his neck. The side of his face kept twitching. “G-God, you guys, c-can’t even wait ‘til we get to Ba-Badtown?”

“For used pussy?” The pirate with the bandana laughed. “Don’t think so.”

Keith flinched away. Looked like he had stumbled out of the frying pan and into the fucking fire. “Please,” he said, “please don’t…”

A fist met the side of his head. Pain bloomed, sent him spiralling downwards. Through the haze, he heard a voice screaming. “Shut up! Stupid bitch, you don’t get to talk!”

The bonds around his hands no longer held him up. He slumped to the ground, felt blood run down his temple. Someone gripped his shorts, yanked them down.

_Don’t, stop, please, I’ll be good, I’ll behave-_

But they wouldn’t stop, would they? No amount of pleading had stopped Buck, he had just taken whenever he wanted, hurt and fucked him. Keith’s hand curled into the dirt. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes. He wasn’t strong enough to stop them. Just something to be used, to be fucked, and then probably disposed of like a useless animal.

He wanted to go home.

The feeling welled in his chest and crept up his throat. A hand pushed him forward and his forehead leaned on his arm. Good. They couldn’t see him cry like this.

He heard them hawk and spit behind him. Something pressed between his buttocks. He bit his arm.

_No, no, no, nonononono-_

The first time with Buck, he had fought hard. Even when he had been hurt, even when Buck was already inside him, he had punched out, tried to bite. Then he had stopped. Fighting brought more pain. Why fight, why fight anymore?

He closed his eyes as the first pirate pushed inside him. Just as rough as Buck.

“Yeah, baby, you’ve done this before, haven’t you?” The grip on his hips tightened. He breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth, while the bruising pain slammed him.

Fingers touched the side of his face. A mouth pressed against his. No, fuck, anything but that. He whined, tried to turn his face away. Pain again. A hard slap. The fingers yanked at his jaw and forced his mouth open. A tongue slid against his. He gagged. The tongue withdrew, followed by another slap.

“You don’t like kissing?” The accent was so strong he could barely understand the words. “Fine.”

Something else nudged against his lips. He shut his eyes, squeezed them tight. Buck had taught him how to give up.

“Nah, this definitely isn’t Snow White,” the pirate behind him said, his voice strained. “Snow White fights. Isn’t that what they say?”

The pirate in his mouth grunted in agreement.

Snow white fought.

He… did nothing.

Gave up.

The pirate in his mouth thrust. Keith couldn’t stop the whimper that burst from his throat. “Aww, did I hurt your feelings?” The thrusts got faster. “You’re good at other things. See?”

Dorothy. Click his heels. There’s no place like home.

A groan from behind him. The pirate withdrew, and heat hit Keith’s back. In his mouth, bitterness erupted over his tongue.

He shuddered. Went home.

They gave him a gun. He blinked. Stared at it.

Aimed at them.

No bullets.

They laughed. “It’s not for shooting, baby,” one of them said. “I want to see you shove that thing inside you.”

Buck had never made him do this. His hands shook as he looked at the gun. “Please, no.”

“Do it!”

“No!”

One kicked his knee. Pain stabbed his kneecap and he cried out, fell forward again.

They wouldn’t stop laughing. He was their toy. Their pretty little plaything. He couldn’t escape from this, not even in his own head.

The muzzle was cold, so cold. Tears ran down his face. Couldn’t hide them now. The pirates gathered round, pointed and raised their voices to mock him. He took a deep breath, pressed the gun inside. Cold. Sobs jolted his body. More pain. Enough. Please, please let it end.

He clicked his heels again.

A gunshot cracked through the laughs.

He kept his eyes on the ground. He was good, he was _good._

_“What the fuck is all this, eh?!”_

He knew that voice.

“Who told you blokes that you could mess with my merchandise, hm? Vaas know about this, does he? He know that you guys are messing with what’s mine?”

Silence. Shuffling. “We didn’t know -”

“No, no. You didn’t. Now you fucking do. And you’re in trouble.”

Eyes on the ground. Eyes –

Buck scooped him onto his feet. Keith nearly buckled to the floor, supported only by Buck’s arms. He couldn’t look at him. Buck said nothing. One arm came under Keith’s legs, the other around his back. Great, now he was going to be carried out of here like a tired child.

“I’ll be right back, fellas. Don’t go anywhere.”

The light of the fire faded into darkness. Cloth clenched under his fingers. His head leaned against a chest. Buck said nothing. He smelled of beer and smoke, but he stayed quiet, didn’t even glance down at Keith.

Oh God, he was in trouble.

He was set down in a sitting position. A car? Keith slumped against the door when Buck closed it.

Two words. Quiet. Devoid of emotion. “Stay here.”

It didn’t occur to him to disobey. Disobeying would only make things worse, make more pain.

Buck left.

Angry voices raised from the camp. He tried not to listen to the words. The night air soothed his skin, and he inhaled it. The scent of the jungle washed away the smell of sweat, of come. From the camp came three gunshots. He stayed perfectly still.

Buck returned, sat in the driver’s seat and started the engine. Still didn’t look at him.

The drive stayed quiet. Keith huddled against the door. Stared through the windscreen. A tiger dodged out in front of the car when they came to a crossroads, and Buck swore at it as it jumped back into the jungle. He muttered something about the ‘fucking wildlife’, and then fell back into silence.

The panic built inside Keith. He was going to be punished, beaten, raped again. Maybe this time Buck would finally kill him.

He couldn’t stop shaking.

They stopped outside the house. Keith wondered if he should open the door and get out himself, but Buck was around almost instantly, throwing open the door and lifting him up again. Keith could have probably walked, but Buck didn’t even ask, just kicked open the door of his shack.

Now would come the punishment. The basement. The pain.

Which meant that it was a total surprise when Buck didn’t take the stairs, and instead took him into a room he had never been in before. Keith caught a glimpse of a mounted knife with swirls on the blade and a crammed bookshelf. Then a desk with a map unfurled, coloured pins dotting the surface, and a single bed in the corner.

They went through another door into a room so tiny it made him feel claustrophobic. Buck put him down, and it took Keith a moment for him to realise he was sitting in a shower. His back pressed against the tiles. Buck batted his arms to the side, stripped off his shirt, then his shorts and shoes. Still didn’t meet Keith’s eyes. Every action was clinical, like a job. Was this the punishment, waiting for his punishment?

Buck stood, yanked the silver head down from the holder and then pulled a lever. Water gushed out, the wrong side of lukewarm. It poured over him, and Buck scrubbed at his skin with one hand. “Open your legs,” he said, voice still quiet. Keith shivered, his arms hugging himself. Buck’s brows knit together. “Now!”

He opened them. The water streamed between them, over his cock, between his buttocks. He flinched, whimpered at the sensation.

“You see what I have to do,” said Buck, “to keep you safe? See what I have to go through, hm? That was your fucking fault, that was. I’ll probably get a visit from Vaas thanks to you. Nothing to say? Hm?”

He thought of the pirates taking him, using him. Buck’s eyes gleamed under the bathroom lights. Expectant.

Keith’s gaze fell to the floor. “Thank you.”

Buck’s eyes flickered. He blinked, frowned. “What was that?”

“Thank you.”

Buck opened his mouth. Closed it. Shook his head and stood up. The shower head hooked back up and the water shut off. Buck’s arm pulled him up again. Now would come the punishing. The hurting. The reclaiming.

Back into the other room. Buck sat him down on the bed. “Stay there,” he said again. He retrieved Keith’s clothes, tossed them into the corner. His own shirt came off, then his shorts. “Get in the bed.”

There it was. He’d get in the bed, and then Buck would –

“Hey, Keith, I’m talking to you. Get in the bed. Don’t make me make you.”

He started crying, couldn’t help it. Got in the bed anyway, faced the wall. He felt Buck dip the mattress, twitched when Buck’s arm brushed his.

“Keith?”

He looked over his shoulder, obedient. Expected a kiss, a punch. Buck just stared at him, no expression on his face. “Get some sleep, mate.”

Then he lay down and turned over, his back against Keith’s.

Keith still waited for the punch. This had to be a trick. Let him think he was safe, then attack him, wear him down even more. He focused on the back of Buck’s head. Waited.

By the clock on the opposite wall, it was almost an hour before he let himself slip back down on the bed. Buck’s back was hot against his, and he felt and heard his steady, rhythmic breathing.

Why had he thanked him?

 _Your head’s getting messed up,_ said a tiny voice inside. Yeah. Definitely.

He let his head rest next to Buck’s on the pillow. He still felt the pirate’s hands on him, but all he wanted to do was to rest. To forget. To click his heels and go home, really go home.

The last thing he heard, before sleep tugged him down, was Buck’s incoherent mumbling.

 

  


End file.
